Chapter 9
„You want to do what?"
Dean's voice rose almost an octave; he was standing in front of Sam who was leaning against the counter, a hand in his ridiculously long hair, the other one in the pocket of his jeans.
"I want to go on another road trip with you – see all of it again; our old house in Lorenz, Bobby's place, Ellen's pub, the bunker, meet Charlie and maybe even Sarah again. We might work a few more cases and… just go back to our old lives one last time."
Dean's mind was racing, his thoughts were going way too fast for this early hour and his lack of sleep, caffeine and food.
"But… why?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Do you really want me to spell it out for you, Dean? I want to spend the last months with you. On the road. Just like we always did."
Dean shook his head. "But… We should stay here, find a cure, figure out how to heal you."
"Dean!" Sam's voice was loud, it was ringing in his ears. "One more time: There is nothing we can do about it, there is no cure. This is no curse, no ghost sickness or whatever we dealt with before – this is my body, my human body, giving in to a genetic disorder that I have carried for all my life. There is nothing You or Cas or anybody can do about that."
Dean's head started to hurt from shaking it so hard. "No. There has to be something."
Sam's sad, beaten puppy eyes looked up at him. "Dean, stop. Please, just stop."
Rage started to built up inside him. How could Sam just run away? Again? How did he think, this would work? Did he think, Dean would carry him when his legs gave up, would learn sign language so they were able communicate for as long as he was still able to move his hands? All that while being on the road?
Hell, of course he would do it, immediately and without hesitation, but it would mean giving up. It would mean accepting what was happening to Sam; it would be a Farewell-trip.
This thought burned inside his head, it was omnipresent, persistent, breathtaking. Dean shook his head once again and grabbed his jacket and car keys.
"Dean! Where are you going?"
"Out!"
With that, he stormed out of the door.
When he came back, Sam sat on the couch. He was holding a picture, one hand was pressed on his mouth, he seemed small and tired.
As soon as he heard Dean coming into the room, he dropped the picture and wiped his eyes thoroughly.
He cleared his throat. "You're back."
Dean sat down next to him. "I am sorry. I… this, all of it… it was just… too much."
Sam closed his still a little watery eyes and nodded. "I know. I am sorry too."
Dean picked up the picture Sam had been looking at. It showed the two of them about twenty years ago, leaning against each other, muddy and tired but with smiles so wide they barely fitted into their faces. The picture had been taken after the first hunt the brothers had finished all by themselves. Dean had carried it around for the last fifteen years at least.
He looked up and stared at his brother, who looked so different now, compared to how he had all this time ago. Then, when they still had hope and confidence – in their dad, in each other, in the world.
He smiled sadly. "Do you ever think about what we would have done had we known how all of this would end up?", he asked quietly.
Sam nodded. "I was just asking myself that. I would have probably run away again."
Dean let out a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah. Me too."
Sam raised an eyebrow, but he shook his head. "To answer your question from earlier: Yes."
The eyebrow rose higher.
"Getting back on the road."
The eyes under the eyebrow lid up. "Really? You would do that?"
Dean smiled. "Sure. I have stayed here far too long already."
A grin flashed over Sam's face and he hugged Dean enthusiastically. "Thank you!"
Warmth filled Dean's whole body as he returned the hug and pressed his brother's body against him.
And in this moment, it felt all right. They would find a way, somehow, along the road. Right now, all that mattered, was to get back on the streets and do what they did best.
It was surprisingly easy to tear down the life he had built over the last two years – his job was resigned fast, getting rid of the house was even easier; his bags were packed within two hours. After three more, the house looked like it had the day he had moved in.
It felt strange, walking through all the rooms again, thinking about how much time he had spent here, what he had been doing and thinking. How limited his life had become. It was good to get on the roads again, back where he belonged.
Dean could have kept the house, there had been no define reason for him to sell it, but somehow, he felt like he would not come back here again. Walking through the empty rooms felt like Goodbye already.
Sam was waiting in the living room, he was sitting on the couch that had been here before Dean and would stay here after him. Seeing him sit there made Dean sad. It reminded him of how much their lives had changed over the course of just two days. A few weeks ago, he had stood there, in the kitchen, dreaming about them buying a flat together and sharing each other's lives again and now they were about to take off to start ... this.
Sam looked up. He had aged a lot over the course of the last year. "Are you ready?"
Dean's eyes wandered around the room one last time. He nodded. "Let's do this!"
